


Concave

by orphan_account



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Gen, Jungle Fushimi, Missing Scene, Pretending To Bond With The Clan You Infiltrated, Slice of Life, skin care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 04:25:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14908292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Hold on,” Fushimi interrupts, “is that a cucumber? Sorry, but I don’t eat vegetables.”“Now, now,” Yukari soothes from the kitchen. “Saruhiko-chan, this isn’t for eating. It’s for wearing.”---When Fushimi agreed to infiltrate Jungle, letting Mishakuji Yukari touch his face had not been in the terms and conditions.





	Concave

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a joke headcanon a friend and I came up with. 
> 
> (Would Fushimi rather die than let Yukari touch his face? Probably. Was there even time for this to happen in canon? Probably not. Is this self-indulgent as all hell? Definitely. Do I care? Definitely not.)

“Saruhiko-chan, the bags under your eyes are atrocious.”  
  
Fushimi sighs. As if he’d needed to hear that from a man who’d spent no less than two hours this morning in front of the mirror. “So?”

“ _So_ ,” Yukari answers, “You’re part of Jungle, now. You’ve already abandoned your Scepter 4 uniform, why not fully look the part?”

“No thanks. Appearances and clans have nothing to do with each other,” Fushimi mutters, returning to scrolling through the newsfeed on his PDA. “You’re just vain.”

“Come on,” Yukari prods, using a well-manicured nail to literally prod Fushimi’s arm as well. “I have just the thing.”

At the contact, Fushimi stiffens. “You’re just going to keep this up until I give in, aren’t you?” He clicks his tongue. “What a nuisance.”

“I knew you’d see the value in my offer,” Yukari claps his hands together, and of all things, _winks_. Fushimi doesn’t bother correcting that he hasn’t actually agreed yet. “This will only take ten minutes, I promise. And afterwards you’ll look and feel much better!”

“What’s wrong with how I look now?” Fushimi mumbles, but Yukari has already walked away.

There isn’t much space in the faux-apartment (well, not if Fushimi doesn’t count the kilometers upon kilometers of empty, grey space surrounding it, which he doesn’t), so he can see Yukari’s every move. Preparation of whatever he’s planning to do to Fushimi apparently necessitates being in the kitchen, pulling items out of both the freezer and fridge, and combining them together with a whisk. Yukari hums as he works.

“Hold on,” Fushimi interrupts, “is that a cucumber? Sorry, but I don’t eat vegetables.”

“Technically,” Nagare chimes in from his wheelchair, “cucumbers are fruits.”

Fushimi clicks his tongue. Again. “I don’t eat those, either.”

“What are you, five?” Sukuna laughs.

“When I was five you weren’t even born yet,” Fushimi points out with a smirk. The taunt earns him a scowl.

“Now, now,” Yukari soothes from the kitchen. “Saruhiko-chan, this isn’t for eating. It’s for wearing.”

“Huh?” Fushimi demands.

Putting a hand on his hip, Yukari turns around. “Haven’t you ever heard of a face mask, Saruhiko-chan?”

A _face mask_? Munakata definitely isn’t paying him enough for this. In fact, Fushimi is fairly certain no amount of money is worth putting up with these oddities. Can’t he just kill Yukari here and now? Or at least Sukuna, who has glanced up from his PSP long enough to stick his tongue out at him.

It seems Fushimi had taken the sushi party for granted.

“I’ve _heard_ of them,” Fushimi mutters. His hand creeps toward his belt knives.

“Well, now you’re using one,” Yukari announces. He returns to Fushimi, then, carrying a bowl full of an awful-looking green paste, like someone had eaten too much wasabi and then thrown it back up.

Fushimi grimaces. “What the hell is that?”

Yukari grins. “Skin care.” Layering some of the goop on his fingers, Yukari says, “now, Saruhiko-chan, close your eyes.”

Fushimi keeps his eyes very, very open and stares. “You’re not putting that on me.”

“But Saruhiko-chan!” Yukari pouts. “I went through all that effort! Are you just going to waste it?”

Eyes flickering from the unsightly paste on Yukari’s fingers to the man’s face to the paste and back again, Fushimi sighs. “Can’t I just put it on myself?”

Yukari raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Do you know how?”

“That’s what Google exists for,” Fushimi scowls. His hand is still at his belt. “I thought you Greens were all tech-heads.”

“Saruhiko-chan, you’ll get wrinkles,” Yukari scolds. A second later, something cold and slimy touches Fushimi’s forehead.

If he’d really, truly put forth the effort, Fushimi knows he could have stopped Yukari’s hand. But if getting into a fight over a face mask of all things isn’t more effort than it’s worth, then he doesn’t know what is.  
  
Clicking his tongue once more for good measure, Fushimi closes his eyes. Yukari removes his glasses, spreading a thin layer of the chilled goo across Fushimi’s entire face excluding his eyelids. Those, he instructs Fushimi to keep closed for the entire ten minutes. He’s about to protest when Yukari stage-whispers “don’t worry, Saruhiko-chan. I won’t let Sukuna-chan lay a finger on you.”

So Fushimi keeps his eyes closed, if only to prove that Sukuna _couldn’t_.

When ten minutes have apparently passed, Yukari wipes off the paste with a warm washcloth. Fushimi blinks his eyes open. He doesn’t _feel_ any different, though then again he hadn’t expected anything to come of this aside placating Yukari.

The mask must have done _something_ , however, because Sukuna bursts out laughing. “You look like a raccoon!” he exclaims, rolling around the floor in stitches.

Fushimi’s eyes widen. His fingers fumble around beside him for his glasses, and when they come up empty he whips around to Yukari. “What did you _do_?!”

Yukari offers Fushimi a blurry grin. “Ah, Saruhiko-chan, are you familiar with the saying ‘things will get worse better they get better’?”

“That doesn’t answer my question!” Fushimi snaps, snatching his glasses from the man’s hand. After replacing them, he stalks over to Yukari’s vanity, where he’s met with his reflection. He blinks. Sukuna is right: he _does_ look like a raccoon.

“It’ll go away within an hour or two, leaving behind a shiny, healthy glow,” Yukari tries to reassure him.

Fushimi glares. “If it doesn’t and this was some sort of prank, I’ll kill you,” he promises, making a show of drawing a knife.

“As if you really could,” Yukari chuckles. “How cute.”

“There is to be no fighting among clansmen,” Nagare reminds.

Fushimi clicks his tongue a fourth time, accepts his temporary raccoon eyes, and resigns himself back to reading the news. Above him, that damn toy airplane whizzes and whirrs. If Munakata’s true grand scheme is to make Fushimi miss Scepter 4 headquarters (and if it is, Fushimi wouldn’t be surprised) it’s slowly, gratingly beginning to work.

When Fushimi looks in the mirror again a few hours later and does indeed look less tired, he chalks it up to placebo without thinking twice.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, if you liked this please consider leaving kudos and a comment! Thank you for reading.


End file.
